Leaves Of Grass Quotes - Page 2

It is no discredit to Walt Whitman that he wrote Leaves of Grass, only that he did not burn it afterwards.

And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his shroud.

I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?

I say to mankind, Be not curious about God. For I, who am curious about each, am not curious about God - I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least.

Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I can bear it.

All truths wait in all things.

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it.

The beautiful uncut hair of graves.

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done, / The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won

And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.

The whole theory of the universe is directed unerringly to one single individual.

Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost.

I know I am deathless…We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.

There will never be any more perfection than there is now.

The English tourist in American literature wants above all things something different from what he has at home. For this reason the one American writer whom the English whole-heartedly admire is Walt Whitman. There, you will hear them say, is the real American undisguised. In the whole of English literature there is no figure which resembles his - among all our poetry none in the least comparable to Leaves of Grass

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean

Strong and content I travel the open road.

Unscrew the locks from the doors ! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs !

There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he looked upon, that object he became.

Are you the new person drawn toward me?

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.